


Not Depressed, Just Sad

by neversaydie



Series: cock it and pull it [17]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, SAMMY GETS HUGS BECAUSE HE NEEDS THEM, Suicidal Thoughts, depressed sammy, emily potter is a badass, post episode 71, sammy's sad apartment of sadness, spoilers for episode 71
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: "Sammy," Emily motions for him to sit down, taking his hands across the kitchen table when he does. Her slender fingers are warm and surprisingly strong, anchoring him to the here and now and drowning out the scream from the void that's still rattling through his mind like a wrecking ball. "Can I be honest with you?""Uh, sure, of course," he blinks heavily, wondering what the hell he's done wrong now to make her worry. He can't do anything right these days, hasn't done anything right since before-"The show tonight sounded like one long suicide note."[post episode 71, Emily shows up on Sammy's doorstep with some concerns.]





	Not Depressed, Just Sad

**Author's Note:**

> TW: discussion of concern about someone being suicidal, explicit description of depression, brief moment of actual suicidal ideation including mentioned method. stay safe, kids.

The last person he expects to see at his door, when he gets back to the apartment tired and aching well after the sun comes up, is Emily.

It's been another shitty night in a long line of shitty nights, and all Sammy wants to do right now is dig out the bottle of whiskey hidden in the back of his kitchen cabinet and drink until he can fall asleep. He's got that distant cry for help echoing in his ears, so deafened by it that he doesn't even notice Emily until he's practically right in front of her.

"Oh. Hi," he blinks, only realising his glasses are dirty when he notices her face is distorted through them. He's stopped bothering to wear his contacts lately - it's not like it matters what he looks like, so why make the effort? "What are you doing up so early?"

"I was listening," Emily doesn't look like she's slept much, understandably, but even with tired eyes she's a striking person to look at. If he were so inclined, Sammy could understand why Ben finds her so attractive. "Is Mr Sheffield okay?"

"Latest word from the hospital is he's unconscious, but stable. Herschel's a wreck, Troy and Loretta are gonna- How did you get into my hall, anyway-" Sammy clears his throat a little, he's starting to get hoarse after another night of yelling and trauma. "D'you wanna come in? I need coffee."

"That would be great," Emily moves out of the way  to let him unlock the door and follows him inside, into what's supposed to be a living space. Although for Sammy, it's been more of an existing space.

He can vaguely remember a time he would have been ashamed to invite her in with the place like this. There are too many dishes in the sink, and he's sort of aware he can't really remember the last time he took the garbage out, but microwave meals for one don't generate a lot of waste besides the packaging. Emily doesn't seem too bothered, anyway, as she takes a seat at the small kitchen table when Sammy waves her towards it while he goes to start the coffee pot.

Or tries to.

"Oh. I… I don't have any coffee," he stares at the empty jar for a few seconds before it registers - he was going to buy more, but then he forgot to get groceries, and then it seemed like too much effort and he'd just get coffee at the station - and looks up at Emily sheepishly. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but he doesn't have the energy. "Sorry for the false advertising."

"That's okay, I'm not here for the coffee," she smiles, gently, but it doesn't meet her eyes. Sammy squints a little, immediately concerned that maybe she's not okay - maybe something happened with Ben or her mom or that son of a bitch Frickard, and if that frog loving piece of- "I'm worried about you."

Sammy - elegant as ever - manages to choke on his spit in surprise, and fills a mostly-clean glass with water to stop himself coughing any further. Emily's expression doesn't change as she watches him splutter, which concerns Sammy somewhat. It's easy to distract Ben by making him laugh, he's not sure how to approach things when the same doesn't work for Emily.

"That wasn't what I was expecting, sorry," he finally catches his breath and tries to concentrate on the matter at hand. He doesn't think he's done anything weird lately, maybe she's just worried about him leaving like everyone else. They don't understand he's just wasting their time yet, but they will. "There's no need to worry about me, Emily. I'm fine."

The words come out automatically, as if saying them will mean he's been anything more than sleepwalking through life for the past three years. He can't remember the last time the world wasn't grey. Jack took all the colour with him when he left.

"Sammy," Emily motions for him to sit down, taking his hands across the kitchen table when he does. Her slender fingers are warm and surprisingly strong, anchoring him to the here and now and drowning out the scream from the void that's still rattling through his mind like a wrecking ball. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Uh, sure, of course," he blinks heavily, wondering what the hell he's done wrong now to make her worry. He can't do anything right these days, hasn't done anything right since before-

"The show tonight sounded like one long suicide note."

The bluntness of it shocks Sammy out of his haze, and when he jerks his head up Emily is just watching him, steady. She's not kidding, she's deadly serious, and she's shown up at his apartment at six thirty in the morning because she's genuinely worried Sammy might harm himself.

He… it wasn't like he was planning to do anything like that. He hadn't thought, seriously, about actively hurting himself. Maybe it had crossed his mind in that vague way late nights and too much liquor and loneliness probably make everyone's brain consider it now and then. Sure, he doesn't want to exist right now, and he doesn't see the point in carrying on his life without Jack, because everything is washed out and he's always tired and nothing matters or changes and the only thing he's felt is pain in so long…

Shit.

"I… I didn't mean it to sound like that," he's stunned by the revelation that maybe he is… inclined to not exist right now. He's let a few things slip lately, nobody else has been in his apartment since January, he's pretty much stopped hanging out with anyone outside of going to the station, but he didn't think it was all that bad.

"You didn't mean it to sound like that, or you're not thinking about hurting yourself?" Emily asks, levelly, and Sammy can feel his hands begin to shake in hers. How has he let this happen? Jack was so determined for him to take care of himself, and all he's done is let him down _again_. "Sammy-"

"I-I don't want to have this conversation," he stands up abruptly, breaking their connection in a hurry. He's not panicking, exactly, he's just thrown off course and is overwhelmed with shame. He acted up on air and someone _noticed_. "I'm tired, Emily, I'm sorry. Can we talk later?"

"No. I'm afraid you're not going to be here later," a thread of steely determination in her voice, Emily gets up and follows him when he starts for the bedroom but thinks better of it - if he's even thinking at all - and stops again. "Sammy, I'm not here to humiliate you. You haven't done anything wrong. It's okay to not be-"

"I'm _fine_ ," oh fuck, he's really starting to shake now. Sammy looks at the trembling hand he's held up with some kind of horrified wonder, because he doesn't understand why his body is betraying him like this. He hasn't even had panic attacks lately because he's been in such a fog it was like anxiety couldn't penetrate it - why is this happening now? "I-I just really need some sleep. I've been having… weird dreams. That's all. I'm just tired."

"I'm sorry, but that's bullshit," Emily won't let him hide, and Sammy fights the urge to do what he always does and throw up a wall - pick a fight or say something sarcastic and just force the conversation to stop by any means necessary. "I've seen you tired, and this isn't tired. You've been so down for months now, since before Christmas, and I think you're depressed."

"Why would I be depressed? It's not like the love of my life is missing, or anything," the defence mechanism kicks in like clockwork, but Emily dodges the sarcasm without a flinch.

"I mean _clinically_ depressed. I don't think you're thinking straight, and I'm worried you're going to make some bad decisions because of it," she cuts him off quickly before he can fire off a comeback. "Whether that's trying to kill yourself in here or walking through the Devil's Gate after Jack, I don't know. But if you're going to do _anything_ , it's not going to be because I didn't try and stop you. I'm not about to let you die when you're one of the reasons I'm still alive."

"Em-"

"You didn't give up on me, and I'm not going to give up on you. Deal with it," she stands her ground, planted before him like an immovable object and unstoppable force rolled into one, and Sammy… Sammy sees Jack in the set of her jaw, the spark in her eyes, the absolute determination that he's not going to be lost on her watch.

Something in him just… gives. And everything it's been holding back starts to spill out.

"It's been years, and it still hurts just as bad as it did when I realised he was… It's like he was never even…" Sammy chokes back a sob, because he's not going to break over this, not now. If he lets the numbness go and starts crying about it then he's not sure he'll ever stop. He doesn't even know why he's talking, why he's not kicking out like a cornered animal to protect his vulnerable underbelly. He's just run out of energy, and it's this or… something worse. "It doesn't get better, it doesn't even get easier. It's the worst pain I've ever felt and it's like I'm bleeding out and nobody can see and it never fucking stops and nobody-"

"I see it. I see you," Emily steps forward and lets him crumple into her arms, squeezing him tight and holding him steady in spite of their difference in size. Sammy presses his face into the soft sweater at her shoulder and tries to breathe, get a hold of himself where he's completely lost control. "You're not alone, Sammy. I know it feels like it right now, and I know telling you again doesn't help, but you're not. You're ours, and we're not going to let you go that easy."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Shh, it's okay. Don't be sorry," she plants a kiss somewhere in his messy hair, and Sammy realises he can't even remember the last time he washed it. He's… yeah, maybe she's right, he's not doing so well right now. "Let us carry some of this for you, okay? That's what friends are for."

They stay like that for a long time, until Sammy has been through his cycle of shame-guilt-fear and back to numbness, and Emily's back must be starting to ache. She pats him lightly on the shoulder as if she's warning him before she requires his attention again. Sammy appreciates it, because just focusing feels like a mammoth effort at the moment.

Distantly, he wonders who she lost to give her these instincts, whose conversations she looked back on through a haze of tears and tried to pick apart for clues to the unknowable. Whoever it was, he probably owes them his life.  

"Come on, you're staying with me today," Emily informs him, in her best authoritative, librarian-not-to-be-questioned voice.

"I'm… I'm okay, really," Sammy forces himself upright and scrubs a hand quickly over his face, instinctively trying to convince her that he's not a few short steps away from tying a noose to his shower rail. The fact the image immediately occurs to him should probably concern him more than it does. "I just, I had a moment, and-"

"No, Sammy. You're not staying here alone anymore," Emily cuts him off, nipping the latest wave of denial in the bud. "You said it yourself tonight - this isn't a home, it's space. It's two rooms of nothing and I'm not going to let you sit here wallowing in it. You've punished yourself enough."

"I…" he's too tired to fight and gives in wearily, too numb to be shocked when Emily takes his hand and tangles their fingers together. God, it's been so long since someone held his hand like that, like there wasn't a force on earth that could compel them to let him go without a fight. "Okay."

"Thank you," Emily grabs his keys from the table and starts leading him out of the apartment, not wasting any time now she's finally got him to admit he's not okay… in a manner of speaking. Sammy just hopes he's not being led out of here and into a psych ward, but he trusts Emily too much to really think she'd spring that on him.

He didn't realise he was depressed, he just thought he was… sad. He's not sure when the shift happened, when sadness made its home in his bones and the spiral got so bad he couldn't see it, let alone pull himself out, but the fact is that someone cared enough to see him falling and held out their hand.

And if the best he can do right now is hold on, then he'll just keep holding on.

Sammy falls asleep in the passenger seat of Emily's car, drifting off to the sound of quiet acoustic rock spilling from the radio and giving him something to hear that isn't Jack screaming for help. His last thought, before he slips into uneasy dreams, is wondering how hard it would be to find the Devil's Gate without anyone finding out.

 _I'm coming,_ he promises the scream, as it claws into what's left of his heart. _Hold on, I'm coming._


End file.
